


Truth Bleeds from My Mouth (A Riddle on My Tongue)

by dreamtowns



Series: Weaponized Hope [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family Angst, Family Feels, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Human Experimentation, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Language, Mystery, Protective Hinata Shouyou, Protective Kozume Kenma, Recovery, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: Hinata Shouyou liked to keep things simple. He preferred his life uncomplicated and somewhat stress-free. But when his families’ inhumane activities are discovered, Hinata’s simple routine spirals into a complex country-wide scandal. Hinata must deal with the aftermath of his parents’ choices while juggling school, volleyball, his little sisters’ disappearance, and the knowledge that he gained a superpowered assassins’ loyalty when he was barely nine-years-old.(Falling in love with an assassin when he’s sixteen was not on the agenda either, by the way.)
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Weaponized Hope [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/925311
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79





	1. fledgling

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Haikyuu!! No copyright intended. It belongs to its’ mangaka: Furudate Haruichi. No money is being made. This is for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Welcome to the next ‘official’ installment of Weaponized Hope! Please enjoy and let me know what you think!
> 
> **WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER**  
>  Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Torture, Implied Attempted Murder of a Child

“I’m sorry,” Kenma whispers into the dark. “But it’s too dangerous for us to see each other right now.”

Hinata tilts his head and frowns. “Kenma, I don’t—why?”

“Shouyou.” Kenma reaches for Hinata’s hand, and taste pools in his mouth at the touch. Despair flickers across his tongue, a twist of lime and lemon; steely resolve comes next, a strong and sticky caramel. Determination. It tastes like watermelon. “We’ll meet soon, okay? But I’ll be gone for a few . . . a while.”

“How long?” Hinata doesn’t think his voice has ever been so quiet. “Months? Weeks?”

“I don’t know.”

Moonlight drapes over them like a soft blanket. Hinata sees healing bruises on Kenma’s collarbone, dried blood on the curve of his cheek. He never asks where Kenma gets injured, never questions _who_ injured him. Kenma, likewise, never asked Hinata, either.

“Okay.” Hinata swallows, audibly, before he nods. After a pause, he holds out his pinky. “But you have to promise me, okay? No matter what’s happening, no – no matter what hurts you, _promise me_ that we’ll meet again.”

Kenma curls his pinky around Hinata’s, and he tastes something sweet. He can’t name it, but that’s okay. There’s a lot of things Hinata has yet to know, yet to see and experience. “I promise.” Kenma’s eyes glow beneath the moon, like gems. Like magic. “It’ll be a while, but we’ll see each other again.”

Hinata smiles and pretends that his heart does not break into pieces when Kenma disappears from his line of sight.

** AGE: EIGHT **

**_ SIX YEARS AGO _ **

Years before the Fall of Teikou Academy, before the trials and the interviews, before the small group of reporters camped themselves out in the front lawn, Hinata Shouyou finds a boy in his backyard. A dying boy.

He wasn’t supposed to be outside since he had gone to the doctors the day before, and his head ached and his limbs felt kind of numb, but Hinata did what many children do when told _no_ by a figure of authority: do it regardless.

His imagination bursts to life around him, and it’s easy to imagine that he’s an explorer of an unknown world with the forestry surrounding him. Growing up in the mountains were a blessing for Hinata’s storytelling abilities. While he doesn’t stray too far from his house (because _duh,_ wild animals), he’s far enough that his parents’ conversation and Natsu’s laughter are muffled.

Mist kisses his skin as he trudges his way through the foliage. When he hears the noise, he thinks it’s a small animal, but he moves closer, nonetheless. His aunt liked to say his curiosity would get him in trouble one day, but Hinata was never one to turn around when others were hurt.

He almost doesn’t see the boy. Cleverly hidden, Hinata nearly walks by his hiding spot if not for his sharp gaze, observant even now, and when Hinata sees him, he stops.

The boy stares back, eyes gold and catlike.

A part of Hinata wants to bolt back home and get an adult—because that’s _blood_ , and there are _bruises_ , and he knows breathing isn’t supposed to _sound like that_ —but he doesn’t move. He’s almost paralyzed beneath this strangers’ gaze.

“Do you want help?” Hinata’s voice is soft, as if he’s dealing with a wild, injured stray. “I – I have a first aid kit back home—.”

“No adults,” the boy rasps out. Hinata almost flinches at the sound. “Just you.”

“Okay.” Hinata nods and repeats the request: “No adults.”

(It’s the oddest exchange Hinata has ever had with someone his age. It’s the beginning of a friendship that will remain unbroken for years to come.)

Although many would think otherwise, Hinata knows how to be quiet. He knows how to sneak around and move without noise. He slips back inside and listens; his parents are preoccupied with Natsu, his vibrant and hurricane of a little sibling being a menace as usual. He won’t be missed for another hour or so.

He finds the first aid kit with ease and hesitates, briefly, before he wets a rag and grabs a dry one. He doesn’t know much about first aid, despite all his childhood bruises and scrapes and various doctors’ visits and surgeries (Hinata is born too early, too quiet, too sick, you see—), but he knows that his clumsy inexperience isn’t what the boy needs right now.

_No adults,_ the boy had said. There was something in his gaze that makes Hinata unwilling to ignore, to disobey.

“Are you hungry?” Hinata asks when he returns. “What’s – what’s your name?”

The boy pauses, however brief, before he says, “Kenma. I’m not hungry.”

“I’m Hinata Shouyou. N-Nice to, um, meet you.”

“Hm.”

Hinata is quiet, in a way his mother laments he never will be, as he watches Kenma tend to his injures. He would help, but Hinata knows he’d make things worse. “You’re not from around here,” Hinata says before he can stop, and Kenma tenses. “That’s – that’s not a bad thing!”

Kenma gives him an even look; it’s not quite hostile, but it’s not entirely open, either. “I’m not from here,” Kenma says instead.

“Are you, um, v-visiting family?”

“Something like that,” Kenma replies flatly.

Hinata knows to stop asking those types of questions and bursts out, “Um, um, is that your actual eye color?”

Kenma blinks slowly. “. . . What.”

“Your eyes are gold,” Hinata points out as if Kenma has never looked at himself in the mirror before. “Are they . . . contacts?”

“No.” Kenma unrolls another bandage and carefully wraps it around his abdomen. “I was born with this color.”

“Cool,” Hinata breathes out.

Kenma hums in response. They both fall quiet as the moon glows above them. Hinata watches Kenma, and Kenma tends to his wounds. The serene air of the forest almost lulls Hinata into a sense of security. Almost.

“I’ll need to leave soon,” Hinata says. “My parents will look for me.”

Kenma nods.

When Hinata stands a few minutes later, dusting off the dirt from his clothes, he gives Kenma a soft smile. “I don’t know where you’re going—but, please, be safe.”

Kenma gives him an unreadable look and doesn’t respond. Hinata gives him another smile and gathers the first aid kit. If he’s caught with it, he’ll just say that he fell while playing and weather through the scolding. Halfway back to his house, a quiet voice reaches his ears:

“Thank you . . . Shouyou.”

Hinata turns around, heart in his throat, but Kenma isn’t there.

*

Three days later, Kenma returns and treats Hinata as if they are old friends. Hinata decides they must be, and they always will be. They don’t talk about the night they’d met, but Hinata always goes to their meeting spot armed with snacks and the first aid kit and the minimal knowledge he devoured from his limited computer time.

The first time Kenma smiles at Hinata, he almost cries from sheer happiness and then laughs at the wide-eyed bewilderment Kenma adopts next.

Days turn into weeks turn into months turn into _years_. Kenma is a part of Hinata’s routine as if he had always been there. He can’t come up the mountain every day, of course; only when he has the ability and freedom, but it’s more than enough to Hinata, who really only has Natsu and his parents for company.

His parents were contemplating sending him to elementary school—which is so _exciting_ —but the doctors say to give it a bit more time.

“You’re just ill, Shouyou,” his mother always says to his question of _why, why, why_. “We’re doing the best we can, okay?”

Hinata doesn’t feel sick. He doesn’t even cough or sneeze. Kenma raised an eyebrow whenever he talked about his doctor appointments, about the medicine he had to swallow with each meal and the surgeries every six months.

“You’re not sick,” Kenma tells him one day; firm and knowing.

Hinata beams at him. “I knew it!” Then, he pauses and tilts his head. “How’d you know?”

Kenma pokes a caterpillar with a stick. “Blood doesn’t lie.”

Hinata opens his mouth but closes it. Kenma says a lot of weird things and remains a mysterious figure to Hinata’s daily life, best friend or not. But it’s just what makes Kenma _Kenma_ , and Hinata is fully prepared to fight anyone who tries to say otherwise.

He says so to Kenma, who gives him one of those weird, glassy-eyed stares of his and says, “You don’t need to do that.”

“I know,” Hinata replies promptly. “But I want to.”

People underestimate Hinata the moment they see him, and Hinata takes great satisfaction in that.

An uncle of his has given Hinata and Natsu self-defense lessons ever since the doctors approved of it. His family is rich—sometimes, uncomprehendingly so—and there are enemies that want to hurt Hinata and Natsu because they are small and vulnerable.

(a part Hinata doesn’t linger on is well-aware that there is something _not right_ with his family, a darkness that simmers beneath the surface, a trap for those who look too deeply, but he resolves to ignore it with his childhood innocence until he no longer can. He does his best to keep Natsu safe, does his best to protect her the best he can because that’s what big brothers do, and Hinata is aware he’d probably burn the world down if anything happened to her.

So, he pretends he is oblivious. He pretends he doesn’t see the expressions, doesn’t hear darkly whispered conversations. Doesn’t taste the emotions that drip in his mouth.

It’s easier that way.)

Hinata knows how to fight—and he fights _dirty_. He has no choice. He is small and nimble; everything about him is against him. One of his aunts encourages his fighting style, and Hinata overhears a cousin or two talking about how “little Shouyou is gonna be vicious when he grows.”

He finds that he likes that description: vicious. Hinata has always been labeled small, and fragile, and helpless—because he _is_ small, and there is something delicate about his stature, and he is supposedly ill despite him feeling perfectly _fine_ , thank you very much.

_Vicious_.

Hinata smiles.

** AGE: ELEVEN **

**_ TWO YEARS AGO _ **

“Oh? He never told me you were so _tiny_.”

A shadow stretches over Hinata, and he looks up to see an older teen smiling at him. Something in Hinata whispers _don’t trust this smile, keep up your guard._ Hinata always listens to his instincts. It never leads him astray.

It’s been two months since Hinata has seen Kenma. “Sorry,” He says after a pause, trying to breathe around the hurt of Kenma’s absence. “Do I know you?”

“No,” says the boy. “But I know _you.”_

Hinata wants to run, but he knows, somehow, that he wouldn’t get far. Fear curls deep in the bottom of his spine as he waits for what the boy wants, for what he needs from Hinata. “I don’t have money,” Hinata says, finally, if only because the tension in his shoulders is about to make him throw up. “I – I’m sorry—.”

The boy laughs; guffaws that make him curl an arm around his stomach. “Money?” He chuckles. “I don’t want your money. Don’t worry, chibi-chan, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then why are you here?” Hinata demands, just short of stomping his feet out of sheer frustration. Although he’s focused on the boy, he keeps a keen eye out for the – bodyguards that follow him whenever he leaves the house for school or leisure. His doctor cleared him to go to school two years ago, and then cleared him to go to places that weren’t just school or home.

Hinata hasn’t looked back since, even if his parents insist on two bodyguards trailing after him. He understands why, though barely. The Hinata’s are old money in the Miyagi Prefecture, and their distinct, vibrant hair and features aren’t something you can just _ignore_.

The boy snickers before he sticks out his hand, Cheshire grin curling deep in his mouth. “Banshee, chibi-chan,” the boy says, and his eyes are sharp and unreadable. Like Kenma. “I’m a good friend of . . . Kenma-chan.”

Hinata ignores the nickname, and he ignores the weird lilt of Banshee’s tone when he says Kenma’s name. His nose crinkles. “Your parents named you _Banshee?”_

There’s a peculiar gleam in Banshee’s eyes when he says, airily, “Something like that—but enough about me, chibi-chan.” Banshee points at him, abruptly, and Hinata squawks at the movement, half sprung to leave before he realizes he’s not in danger. “What are you doing?”

A scowl falls on Hinata’s lips before he can help it. “Nothing.”

Banshee quirks an eyebrow. “Sure, chibi-chan. Bored of elementary school?”

“I’m in _middle school_ ,” Hinata rolls his eyes, but he’s used to people mistaking him for being younger. His homeroom teacher was half-convinced Hinata was eight. “A first year—but, well . . ..”

“Well?” Banshee prompts after a bit, taking a seat beside Hinata. “Come on, tell big brother what’s going on!”

Hinata sputters. “Big brother?”

“You remind me of cute little Greed-chan,” Banshee says—coos, really, ignoring Hinata’s expression because _who_ names their children these names? Did Hinata wake in an alternate universe? “And it’s cruel to resist such adorably sorrowful faces, you know.”

Banshee, Hinata thinks, is fucking _weird_.

“My teachers want me to join a club,” Hinata says, though more to the sidewalk than to Banshee. “And I don’t want to.”

Banshee tilts his head. “Why not?”

“It’s not safe,” Hinata says.

“Not safe?” Banshee narrows his eyes. “How?”

Hinata doesn’t respond and stares at an assembly line of ants by his feet.

Banshee hums and taps a rhythm on his knees. He brightens, a few moments later, and pulls a phone out of his pocket. “Let me show you this video,” Banshee says. “Have you ever played volleyball before?”

“Not really,” Hinata says and leans closer. Not _too_ close, of course, because for all that he’s considered bright and sunshine-y, Hinata doesn’t touch people often. Not unless they were Natsu, Kenma, or the doctors.

(he doesn’t even touch his parents.)

“Well,” Banshee says in a tone of finality. “Let me introduce you to the _Small Giant.”_

He watches the video. He watches it again. Fire blooms in the pit of his stomach, in the hollow space of his heart. He feels like he’s been blessed by divinity.

Banshee watches him with a quiet smile that’s no less mischievous, no less _trouble_ , and says, “Come on—let’s go play some volleyball.”

Hinata agrees.

It’s the beginning of a new age.

*

_Shouyou is getting sicker,_ the doctors say despite Hinata’s protests that he feels _fine,_ but adults listen to other adults. No one listens to the children, and thus it’s decided: Hinata’s free time shrinks to accommodate the lengthy appointments and surgeries that leave him feeling like he’s been picked apart and stitched back with plastic.

His parents get stricter about him being outside, about Natsu being outside (because Natsu is also sick, sicker than Hinata, apparently, and yet she shrieks with apple-flavored laughter and is a whirlwind of energy even on a _bad_ day, and flowers bloom where she steps, and Hinata just doesn’t understand it), and have quiet discussions about pulling Hinata out of school for his health.

“Everything we do, Shouyou,” his mother says one night, hand brushing his curls back despite his flinches, despite the _greedemptinessdeterminationcuriosityknowledge_ swirling in his mouth. “We do because we love you, okay? We just want you and Natsu-tan to be healthy.”

“We are healthy,” Hinata protests, but he’s well-aware that he’s talking to a brick wall. “We’re not sick!”

“No sick!” Natsu agrees as she’s curled up in their fathers’ arms. Petals fall from her fingertips; bright colors that resemble spring despite it being the middle of winter. “No sick!”

Their parents share a look, and Hinata pretends he doesn’t see. He swallows a mouthful of burnt noodles, of raw and oily fish, and doesn’t think about what it means.

(it’s easier this way.)

*

On the days Banshee isn’t there, another boy hunts Hinata down. At first, Hinata thought the boy was a ghost because he seemed to fade in and out of existence. He was just – there, and then he wasn’t. It was weird. It was really, really weird, but Hinata was used to weird. He grew up with weird. Hell, even his stupid, exhausting doctors’ appointments were weird.

“What’s your name?” Hinata asks, curious eyes and open expression. “Oracle?”

The boy snorts. “Reaper.”

_Reaper,_ Hinata thinks, wholly bewildered by the names some people give their children. If he were old enough, he’d want a drink. Hinata makes Reaper get him strawberry milk from a vending machine, instead.

“Do you play volleyball?” Hinata asks. Ever since Banshee showed him the video, Hinata threw himself into the sport with a passion and ferocity that sometimes scared his parents. Well, Hinata thinks it scared them—they looked at him differently, an odd gleam in their eyes, an odd shape to their smiles. Hinata ignores it like he ignores everything else in that house, except for Natsu, of course.

“No,” Reaper says as he cracks open his book. Hinata discovers that Reaper is always, always reading. Like how Banshee can’t help but flirt with people, regardless of their gender or age. “Do you?”

He sounds like he already knows.

“I do,” Hinata chirps. “I’m – not that good, but, but Banshee says I’m improving!”

“Hmm.” Reaper turns another page. Hinata never feels like he’s being ignored. Reaper is kind of like Kenma, in that regard.

Hinata chews on his bottom lip. He wonders how Kenma is doing.

(he wonders if kenma even lives.)

Sensing his shifting mood, Reaper bookmarks his page and gives Hinata his undivided attention. “Explain the rules to me.”

Hinata brightens and launches into a butchered explanation of volleyball that would’ve made Banshee and experts around the world cry.

*

A couple weeks into his third year of middle school, Reaper and Banshee disappear. They don’t answer Hinata’s messages or calls. They don’t appear at their regular haunts. They’ve gone silent like Kenma. Ghosts that only linger in Hinata’s mind.

The world falls to pieces three days later. 

Hinata doesn’t really understand what’s going on, but his parents are calling people on their phones and talking rapidly. Natsu curls against him, her fear, cold like ice, like mochi, scalds his mouth. The TV is on the news, which is odd because his parents only watch the news at nine and it’s, like, one—

And Hinata stares at the livestream.

Violence erupts from the live feed; adults are fighting adults and some are fighting children, and some children are fighting back and—

“What the fuck,” Hinata says, blankly, because that kid just _manipulated fire? What. WHAT._

“Nii-chan,” Natsu whispers into his shirt, small fingers gripping the fabric tightly. “I’m scared.”

His parents are shouting now. Natsu’s fear shifts into a numbing terror, and it burns his tongue, hot and acrid like pure black coffee. “You’re going to be okay, Nacchan,” Hinata says as he makes up his mind and gently corrals her inside the bathroom, far away from where his parents hold court. “Wanna play a game with me?”

Natsu shakes her head.

Hinata pretends she doesn’t. “Stay in here until I say you can come out, okay? If . . . If you get scared,”—Hinata hands her his phone— “Call the police, okay? They’ll help.”

Around the fingers in her mouth, a habit she never outgrew, she nods. Hinata tries not to cry at her steely gaze— _she’s only seven, she doesn’t need to look like that_ —when she curls her fingers around his phone. “I will . . . be safe, Nii-chan.”

Hinata smiles, bright and vibrant and fake, and presses a warm kiss to her forehead. “You too,” he murmurs, the strawberry sweetness of Natsu’s love curling down his throat.

(Safety does not exist in this household.

It is one of the first lessons the Hinata children learn.)

He knows he should stay in the bathroom with Natsu, but they’d both be sitting ducks. Hinata’s first priority is always Natsu. Her safety and her well-being—if it means he slots himself directly in the line of fire to keep her safe and hidden, then that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“—need to get rid of the evidence,” his father hisses. _Evidence?_ Their muffled voices become clearer as Hinata shuffles closer, heart nearly burrowing deep beneath the floor. “They’ll come looking, and they’ll _know_.”

“Don’t be so hasty,” his mother says, instead. “We’ve put too much work into it, and our name isn’t associated with Teikou.”

_Teikou?_ Hinata then remembers what he saw on the news. The bright tagline on the bottom of the screen: _Teikou Academy Involved in Human Experimentation._ His veins—his everything, really—goes cold.

“Mom? Dad?” Hinata rounds the corner, but every instinct tells him _no, run, RUN._ But he can’t. If he does, then he leaves Natsu alone. He _will not_ leave Natsu alone. “Wh-What’s going on?”

Their gazes pin him in place. He feels like he’s about to be

“Takashi,” his mother says. Pleads. Hinata stares. She’s never sounded like that before. “Please. Don’t do this.”

“We must,” his father replies. Firm and unmovable. Cold and distant. “They’ll be crawling through every known teacher in the Academy, and we can’t have our name connected.”

His mother stares at him, and there’s something tragic about her expression, but Hinata’s too terrified, too numb, to understand it.

She turns away, her shoulders trembling, and his father approaches with a knife. 

Hinata blanks out at some point, detaching from himself because the pain is just _too much, too much, he can’t breathe, why can’t he_ and the world fades. He loses feeling in his limbs, achingly slow and painful.

Someone is screaming. He thinks it’s him.


	2. the end of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:**  
>  Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Torture, Implied Human Experimentation, Mild Language
> 
> I honestly didn't mean to take so long to update lol but inspiration for this au was just really low. still kinda is, tbh, but it's getting better! anyways, thanks for sticking with me :D

** AGE: FIFTEEN **

**_ ONE YEAR, 35 DAYS AGO _ **

Hinata wakes to a world of color and the smell of antiseptic. For a moment, he thinks he’s in the doctors’ office, ready for another painful checkup or numbing surgery, but when he opens his eyes, he’s—well, Hinata doesn’t know _where_ he is, but it definitely isn’t where he initially thought. 

“Oh!” a voice to his left says. “You’re up!”

“. . . what?” Hinata sits upright, slowly, gingerly, and startles at the feeling of things in his skin, wrapped around his neck. Something beeps in tune with his heartbeat, wild and erratic and terrified. “W-Where am I? Where’s _Nacchan?_ What’s – what’s going _on—?”_

“HEY, HEY!” The abrupt loudness makes him startle, and Hinata curls into himself at the fear hanging around his neck. “Let’s calm down, Chibi!”

For a split moment, Hinata thinks that Banshee found him—and he’s sorely disappointed to see that it’s a stranger. “Um.” Hinata says after a pause, staring at his black and white hair. “Who . . . are you?”

“Who am I? Who are _you?”_ the boy shoots back, but there’s an easy smile on his lips, so Hinata isn’t too annoyed. “Just kidding—call me W . . . Bokuto Koutarou.” He curls a hand around his neck, a sheepish yet empty smile on his lips. “We’re not using code names anymore, you know?”

_Code names?_ Hinata doesn’t ask. It’s better to remain oblivious. “Hinata Shouyou . . . now, where are we?”

“Some JSDF base,” Bokuto responds flippantly, like he’s not upturning Hinata’s entire _life_. “We won’t be here long, I think. They just – wanna make sure we’re, you know, unlikely to go on a killing spree, haha!”

_Excuse me._

Hinata stares at him for a moment, wide-eyed, before he decides it’s just better for his health if he goes with the flow. “Okay,” he says once he grasps his bearings. “I . . . guess that makes sense.”

_But that doesn’t explain why_ I _am here_ , Hinata thinks but doesn’t voice his questions, however many they may be.

Bokuto opens his mouth, but pauses when the door opens. “Glad to see you’re awake, Hinata-kun,” the woman—the _doctor_ —smiles at him. Hinata tries to hide how nervous he is, but the machine tracks his heartbeat, and it’s going wild. “. . . I’m not going to harm you, okay? I just need to check your vitals and wounds.”

Bokuto watches them both with a hawk-like gaze, but it seems more protective when it lands on Hinata rather than the outright hostility when he looks at the doctor.

“My name is Shibata You,” the doctor says, still pleasant and warm and kind. “You don’t need to address me as Dr. Shibata if you don’t want to. I work as a medic with the JSDF.”

Hinata doesn’t really care—or hear her, really. He’s in another place, a different room. A new surgical scar is bright against the small of his wrist. He’s strapped against a metal table, half under a haze of delirium. Doctors mean pain. They mean surgeries. They mean condescending warmth and a _Yuuko-san, his health is getting worse_ and—

“CHIBI.” Bokuto’s voice jolts Hinata out of his thoughts. “You need to _breathe.”_

Hinata breathes. “S-Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Shibata says. “You’ve been through quite the ordeal, Hinata-kun. No one will blame you for your reaction.”

“. . . Where is Nacchan?” Hinata questions softly, fingers gripping the sheets of his bed. “Where’s my sister?”

Shibata doesn’t answer his question. “Hinata-kun, I need to look at your injuries. You don’t want an infection to take hold.”

Hinata wants his sister. He wants to go home. He wants Kenma, and Banshee, and Reaper, and—He swallows and takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” he says.

The sooner he gets it over with, the better.

*

He finds out the truth a few days later. His parents were arrested for child abuse and attempted murder. For human experimentation. They tortured the children who attended Teikou Academy, and then turned around and locked Hinata and Natsu in a modern-day castle.

_No one gets in, no one gets out._

Someone kidnapped Natsu in the midst of the chaos, grabbing her as the police and JSDF soldiers stormed the Hinata household. Only her soft yellow blanket she was obsessed with was left behind, crumbled and splattered with blood on the bathroom tile. Blood that trailed through the back of the house and disappeared partway through the mountain forest.

(They don’t know who took her.)

*

His injury heals. A scar blooms in that previously empty space, and some nights, he finds his fingers tracing the outline of the hurt. He’s given freedom to roam the grounds, but he can’t leave the base yet. Not until he’s gone through various psych evaluations with one of the on-site psychologists. Not until they’ve secured a guardian that has no connection to Teikou or won’t mistreat him. Various rooms were repurposed for recreational activities—probably to make them feel like they weren’t trapped on a military base—and the adults encouraged them to use them.

There are talks of building an actual home for them—for the kids who couldn’t reacclimate to normal life, for the kids who had nowhere else to go save for Teikou. Hinata ignores those talks, putting on blinders, and feigning obliviousness until it bites him in the ass.

He drifts from place to place, a ghost tethered to the earth, and tries to adjust to the utter clusterfuck his life turned out to be.

One morning after breakfast, Bokuto cajoles him out of their shared room and he ends up in a room with a handful of other kids.

A shadow falls over him as he tries to amuse himself with a rubix cube. It’s so reminiscent of the day he met Banshee that his heart twists. “You’re tiny,” the boy—the giant, but let’s be honest here, _everyone_ is a giant to him—says before offering him a piece of the candy. “Want one?”

Hinata has the vague feeling he’s being tested, but he’s too tired to care. “Thanks,” he says and takes a bite. It’s delicious, and Hinata can’t help but devour it within seconds. The boy looks amused at his disappointment and hands him another.

Other kids are staring at them, eyes wide and disbelieving. Hinata pretends he doesn’t notice. The boy keeps handing him snacks, and Hinata eats them because, well, one, he loves food, two, he has literally nothing else to do with his time, and did he mention he loves food?

At some point, Hinata gathers courage founded on full stomachs and starts asking the boy questions about his favorite snacks. He’s made a great choice because the boys’ lilac eyes brighten and resembles less of a giant and more of an excitable puppy.

He learns the boys’ name is Murasakibara, but that he used to be called _Shield._ An earth manipulator for his Unit ( _“Unit Miracle, but you already knew that, huh, Hina-chin.”),_ one of the first lines of defense should any trouble arise. Hinata has absolutely no idea what that even _means,_ but he doesn’t ask. They’ve already gotten picked apart by the various psychologists and doctors on staff; Hinata doesn’t need to be another.

“Can I call you Muramura-kun?” Hinata questions as they share another snack: a bag of chips whose name wraps around his mouth. “Since you’re calling me Hina-chin?”

Murasakibara blinks. “Sure, Hina-chin,” the boy says, tone bland but Hinata hears the underlying smile there. “Ne, ne, Hina-chin, have you ever had maibo?”

*

Hinata loses track of the days. Those who’ve been cleared from the hospital wing are now situated in the barracks, as comfortable as any military base could ever be. He sleeps in a room with two second years from Teikou, and a weirdly invisible boy named Kuroko. He and Kuroko bond over being the two smallest in the dorms. He doesn’t question why Kuroko sometimes disappears, and Kuroko doesn’t explain.

He finds Kenma when his time at the base nears a month.

Well. Kenma finds _him._

He’s leaving out the hospital wing after one of his therapy sessions, greeting and smiling at the familiar faces and friends he’s made. It’s always been easy for him to make friends with others, and they even have a shared trauma. Sort of. He hasn’t been touched by Teikou the way they’ve been, but he bares the scars his parents left on him. It’s more than enough for some.

Though Hinata’s pretty sure everyone thinks he’s been trained as an assassin. He’s given up trying to change their opinions about him, considering he’d tell them he was a typical student and volleyball player until his face turned blue and they’d _still_ wink and smile and say, “Yeah, yeah, we know~, but you don’t have to hide yourself around us, yeah?”

He steps around the corner, squawks, and then flails when he comes face-to-face with Kenma. “Wahh—Kenma?” Hinata blinks, brain short-circuiting, and then, once those dots have connected: _“KENMA!”_ He practically throws himself at the other, but Kenma doesn’t seem to mind, catching him with ease.

“Shouyou,” Kenma murmurs against his curls. “Sorry I took so long.”

If anyone asks, Hinata isn’t crying. “You just—you just disappeared, Ken _ma!”_ His arms tighten around Kenma, as if to keep him there, present, in case he decides to slip away from his grasp once more. “I . . . I didn’t know where you went.”

“I’m sorry,” Kenma whispers. Hinata can’t explain the emotion pooling into the others’ mouth. “I’m sorry.”

His tears dampen Kenma’s shoulder. Neither of them are bothered. People bypass them here and there, but no one interrupts their reunion. Hinata spies a few adults with suspiciously wet eyes, but his thoughts are more focused on Kenma to really think much on it.

“Shouyou . . .,” Kenma murmurs as he leans back from the hug, eyes warm and fond at the sight he makes. “Why are you here?” he questions, low and careful to not be overheard. “You’re not—you’re _different,_ Shouyou.”

Hinata hears the unspoken words.

_You’re not touched by Teikou._

Hinata chews on his bottom lip, wondering how to explain what happened to land him at a JSDF base with other child assassins, and Kenma sees his reluctance and suggests they find a quieter area. They end up at the outside area of the base, typically for outside drills and the like, but there’s a small garden area with benches.

It’s there Hinata quietly explains about his parents, and the accident ( _“it wasn’t really an accident, though, since they, you know,_ wanted _to kill me, and—“_ ), and Natsu. Kenma frowns, lips thinning to a near white line, when he talks about Natsu and the worries drowning his lungs.

Kenma didn’t interact with Natsu, considering he never went inside Hinata’s home, but he knows how much Hinata’s little sister means to him. “Do you want me to go find her?” Kenma asks at the pensive quiet between them. His eyes scan their surroundings for threats, keeping an eye on the cluster of ten-year-old’s trying to plant a few flowers nearby, on the soldiers scattered around the grounds. Hinata doesn’t doubt that if a threat arose, Kenma would protect him and those in the base.

Hinata thinks about the idea for a moment, and then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “It’s okay, Kenma.” _You don’t have to be a murderer for me._

Kenma hears his unspoken words, like always, and hums.

*

He’s attached to Kenma’s hip now that he knows his best friend is there. He hasn’t seen Banshee or Reaper yet, but he stubbornly clings to the hope that they’re alive. That Teikou hasn’t stolen them like they tried to steal Kenma.

A day doesn’t go by when he’s not circling Kenma’s orbit. Perhaps, it’s a bit unhealthy, perhaps, he should let Kenma do his own thing every now and then, but Kenma is the only thing of familiarity in this base. He’s the only thing Hinata knows well. Knows is safe.

Kenma doesn’t seem to mind their proximity, either.

Murasakibara doesn’t think much of Kenma’s presence, only drawling out greetings and candy whenever they’re in that rec room. Hinata meets a few members of Murasakibara’s Unit a few times—learns that Kise can read minds, that Midorima likes Oha-Asa and can manipulate water (he prefers to make weaponry out of ice, which is so _cool),_ and Momoi has the natural ability to analyze anyone she sees, bolstered by her technokineses. Aomine prefers to be alone, save for when he plays basketball, but even Hinata sees a dispassionate spark in the others’ eyes whenever they step onto the base courts.

Hinata meets Akashi once, and decides it’s best to steer clear of the redhead. Kenma doesn’t say anything about it, but Hinata knows his friend is pleased at the decision.

(Hinata meets Akashi-King- _Akashi,_ and bile presses against the back of his throat at the overwhelming rise of _bitterrageregretcausticburninggriefhatredacridhelplessness_ dancing on his tongue. Akashi-King- _AkashiSeijirou_ takes one look at him and says, “My emotions are hurting you, aren’t they, Hinata Shouyou?”

Hinata doesn’t even remember telling the teen his name.)

Entrance exams rear their heads. Hinata’s cleared to leave the base and take whichever ones he wishes, and he choses to return to Miyagi and take the entrance exam to Karasuno. It’s the school the Small Giant went to, and Hinata will be damned if he allows his parents, if he allows _Teikou,_ to take even more things away from him.

Kenma understands, more than anyone, why Hinata applies to Karasuno, and Karasuno only. He takes the entrance exam to Nekoma High, where he will hopefully attend with his cousin, a boy named Kuroo Tetsurou ( _untouched by the academy_ ).

Hinata crows once he learns both Nekoma and Karasuno have active volleyball clubs. “Are you gonna join? Are you gonna join?”

Kenma hums and doesn’t reply, only smiling quietly at Hinata’s needling attempts at gathering information.

*

When he learns his parents have been sentenced to eighty years in prison on a lengthy list of charges that make his head spin, someone he doesn’t know tracks him down.

“Hello,” says the girl, hair pulled into two side buns. Hinata gives her an owlish blink. “You’re not from the academy, are you?”

Hinata shakes his head, and she smiles.

“Call me Red Eye,” she says, and then presses a business card, of all things, into his hands. It’s strange, especially when putting her track jumpsuit into account. “I’ll be around if you need any help, okay, Shouyou-chan?”

“Um. Okay?” Hinata blinks and observes the laminated card. He expects to see Red Eye’s actual name, but it’s not there. _Red Eye, your favorite informant, XX-XXXX-XXXX, redeye@gmail.com._ “What’s, um, your . . . name . . .?”

Red Eye isn’t there.

It’s like she didn’t even exist in the first place.

(It takes him a good hour and a half to realize he hadn’t even told her his name).

“. . . Shouyou?”

Hinata blinks at the sight of Kenma’s raised eyebrow. He tucks the business card into his pocket and accepts the pocari Kenma hands him. At the unasked question in Kenma’s eyes, Hinata smiles. “I’m okay, Kenma. Hey—how ‘bout we go play volleyball? Practice for club tryouts!”

Kenma takes a sip and sighs. He doesn’t, Hinata notes victoriously, say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it! Feel free to chat about this AU with me at my tumblr @dreamvevo or twit @dreamtcwns!

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it!


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